Don't
by Anna W
Summary: Don’t try to stop me- Charlotte Sulivan wants a change badly. She is the good girl, quiet and unattractive. Can she pull off this change and show her brother her true abilities? Will Spot Conlon help her to reveal the truth as well as recognize it for h


Don't bash me like you think you can. Don't think my hair is what I am. You don't know me, and I don't want you to. I'm not the person you think I am.  
  
Don't tell me what you think I should do. That I should stay at home while you go out. That I should be locked away in your little cage while you dangle the key in front of my face, daring me to move. I'll move. One of these days. Maybe today.  
  
Don't make me change my clothes when I like what I have on. I wear dresses when I want to. I look nice when I want to. I'm not porcelain, and to be exact, I do not belong to you and never will.  
  
Don't comment on my hair when you know that it's clean. And tell me that I should pull it up and look like a lady. I am a lady. I've been a lady. Mother might be dead, but I know what I'm doing and I know what real ladies do. Don't forget, Jack Kelly, that I can read and write. I was the one that taught you.  
  
Don't tell me who I can see and what I should do with them. I can decided well for myself how I should act. I can see people that I want to see. I'm sixteen years old and you have no more say so. You never should have. You can't tell me to stay away from who I love, and who I like because I won't. There's nothing you can do to withhold me from what I want any longer.  
  
Don't tell me this is treason. I know damn well what treason is, and if you consider treason to be becoming what I want to be, you are wrong. I I am right about this one, Jack. I am tired of your silly war and if this only eggs it on, so be it. Disown me if you will, but I can no longer do your bidding. I am my own person and you cannot control me anymore. I suppose I have taken away your dangling key now Are you scared? You should be.  
  
But most importantly, Jack, don't hole me to you, telling me you love me. I am your sister and I am not fooled easily. I have seen you all my life, and this is not love. This is rage! This is hate and your dear sister is suffering the consequences. You can't cage me anymore. You can't keep me away from what I really am.  
  
I am not part of your war. I am not supporting your rash decisions. I am not supporting the downfall of Manhattan. I am not going to stay away from what you tell me to. I have listened to you for too long. I have followed orders for too long. I am not going to take it anymore. I am not going to stay. I will not support you, and for once, you will never be able to make me.  
  
Do yourself a favor, Jack Kelly. Don't look for me. I hate you and I cannot imagine you doing this. I have stayed under your wing in your prison for too long and now I will break free. Don't try to stop me. Just don't.  
  
Jack Kelly's eyes lifted slightly above the sheet of paper he had found on Charlotte's desk. His eyes, usually brown and lively, took on a glazed cover, seemingly associating with the pain and incomprehensible numbness toward everything around him he had suddenly come to feel. He did not know what to feel as it was . Anger? Resentment? Nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed to fit. Resentment towards Charlotte? Cruelness she had never possessed. There was no reason for him to feel that way. Anger? Never. She could not string words together correctly enough for him to ever become irate with her. Yet still, she was gone.  
  
The paper was wet and crumpled, the writing slurred, showing the rush she had been in. He wondered when she had left. How long it had been since she had stood in this room, writing the despicable note Jack now held in his hand.  
  
He wondered if she had hesitated. Had she stood near the window, brown locks hanging in her face, loose old dress adorning her figure, not flattering in the least? Had she stared at the window, waiting and wondering if someone would walk in at that moment and prevent her? Maybe it had been a quick decision. Maybe she had written the note and ran.  
  
The room swiveled in Jack's vision. He could not see the usual plain cot on the floor, sheets in disarray. He could not see the open window, breeze blowing the thin linen curtain that had on so many mornings not shielded the incoming sun at dawn. All he could see in front of him was his sister's disorderly and shy face, revealing in so many ways her diffident and dependent countenance. This was Charlotte's room, Charlotte's things, Charlotte's face and for the first time in his life, he didn't want to see it.  
  
He wiped away the tears, his blurred vision becoming clear finally, her face disappearing into the slightly lighted abyss of her room. He apprehensively wondered if she was traveling the streets at night. If she would reach the destination soon before any hard could come to her. She had barely been outside Manhattan.  
  
He shook his head his trance fracturing away like a mirror that has just cracked. Why was he worrying about Charlotte, when she had done the one thing Jack thought she would never be able to do, nor would she want to! She had gone against him, turning her back to him completely.  
  
He suddenly felt passionate hate for the silver plated hairbrush lying on the floor by her bed, for the beautiful purple dress that was sprawled across the ground. Even for the measly wooden floor her damned feet had touched.  
  
Charlotte would never usually do this. She had supported him for so long and now, now after the passionate hate between Manhattan and Queens had become an all out war, the time when he needed her guidance the most, was when she decided she would leave him hanging. How selfish! Where did she expect to go? No one would be interested in her. No one would give a damn about a quiet girl, terribly dressed and slumped. She would be a lost hope, the little wench.  
  
The tears now forgotten and the sympathy washed away, a boiling anger rose in him. One that he had never felt before. He had especially never expected this rage to be directed at Charlotte, his do-nothing sister. He loved her with all his being, but he had not understood. The letter was lying. It had to be. There was no possible way that she could mean or even think these things. They were too powerful and passionate, nothing like her personality. She was dull, withdrawn. Nothing that would call her to act like this.  
  
Jack realized that there was only one thing that the letter could not be lying about, for everything except the fact that she was gone and that she did not want him to look for her was not true.  
  
His anger boiled in his blood again as he reread the letter once more, this time crumpling it, his hand creasing into a tight fist. She was slowly but surely edging deep within him, making him angrier with every thought. She'd die out there! He had no idea why she would even think she could leave and not be safe without him.  
  
In a sudden movement of anger as Jack reread it the third time, he walked quietly to the doorway, stuffing the letter in his pocket. He paused when he reached the doorframe, clenching both his fists, not knowing what to do. Not knowing how to handle his sister's surprising betrayal. Charlotte had never questioned him before. Had never said anything about her apparent dislike and discord with him. There had never been a problem. She was a good girl and smart too.until now.  
  
"What in da hell does she think she's doin?" Jack muttered through clenched teeth.  
  
His fist suddenly came into contact with the well built wood of doorframe as he replayed again the surprising and angering words Charlotte had written down, daring to leave for him to find.  
  
How angry she seemed! How unappreciative of all that he had built up for her! He loved her; how could she even question that? He took care of her unconditionally. He made sure no one ever questioned her quiet disposition or her anti-social feelings. How she blushed scarlet when anyone talked to her, or how she always wore her hair down in her face, covering up its shyness and fear. He had told her to pull it up, to wear nicer dresses. She would look like the lady he knew Charlotte was. He had always tried to help her. Now look what had happened!  
  
Finally, Jack Kelly walked out of his sister's room, reevaluating his entire life. Charlotte Sullivan could never have done this. He would never fathom her doing this.  
  
Soon as he headed sppedily down the stairs of the Manhattan Newsie's Boarding House, out of the door and into the dark streets (ignoring several shocked facdes staring his way, and a "Jack, was wrong witcha?" from Racetrack) his confusion set in. What was he to do about this? Usually, when a problem presented itself, he would faithfully turn to Charlotte, whose smart wits would solve it instantly. Now, the only person he thought to turn to was just as confusing as the situation he was in now. His trusted friend Spot Conlon would be just as lost as he was.  
  
Jack walked along the street, lighting a cigarette, and puffing up at the cloudy night. It would rain soon, and hopefully, this event would not occur in the morning hours. He shook his head realizing that his problem did not lie in the weather, though he wished with all his might that it did.  
  
He finally sighed, heading toward a local bar, knowing nothing else to do for the night. Spot would have to wait for the morning, and until then, one word repeated itself in his head. Don't. 


End file.
